


On 'til Morning (I Suppose?)

by musiclily88



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Disney World & Disneyland, M/M, disney!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: almost entirely crackDEFINITELY 1d vibe
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: Disney Direction Fic Fest 2020





	On 'til Morning (I Suppose?)

**Author's Note:**

> almost entirely crack  
> DEFINITELY 1d vibe

On 'til morning (I suppose?)

“So can I wish for more wishes?” Harry asks, finally in his civvies for the day, smiling as he shakes the Genie’s hand.

The Genie shakes his head _no,_ pumping Harry’s hand gently.

“Sure. Gotcha.” He smiles again. “We’re golden.” Harry fucking loves Disneyworld, but he can’t say that on-site. Instead, he nods his head to the side, where two new children are peering at the Genie shyly. “Can I wish for your number? Because, lemme tell ya. You won’t ever meet a friend like me.”

The Genie bodily turns away from Harry, shimmying their hips in tune with some kind of imaginary music, waving a hand good-bye.

:

“You know I know you’re the Genie,” Harry says, stepping into the bottom of the Tinkerbell outfit in the locker room the following Tuesday.

“I’m what now?” Louis responds, moving to help yank up Harry’s wings. He may perhaps yank a little harder than is completely necessary, though the jury remains out.

“You’re the—”

“What?” Louis asks, bodily turning Harry around, smiling brightly. “Can’t hear you!”

“You know we both grant wishes!” Harry yells, falling into Louis’ shoulder as he spins around again.

“I know that I do,” Louis agrees, nodding slowly, setting Harry aright. “But I’m not sure what _you_ do.”

Harry snorts. “I can grant wishes sometimes.”

“Yeah, and I’m strong as ten regular men, sure, definitely,” Louis adds, nudging at Harry’s side.

“And as a specimen, yes, you’re intimidating,” Harry says, moving to pick up the Tinkerbell head.

“That’s a different—”

“And you’re especially good at expectorating.” Harry smiles before putting the head on, slightly askew.

Louis sighs, shifting the Tinkerbell head so it faces forward. “My. What a guy.”

:

Two days later, Harry asks, “Faced the galloping hordes?” taking off the top of a Minnie costume, the red bow tipping slightly to one side.

“A hundred bad guys with swords,” Louis agrees from his spot on the bench beside his locker. At first, he’s face-down, his hands crisscrossed on the knees of his gray jeans, with his face ducked in the middle. He heaves a heavy sigh before he eventually picks up his head and quirks up a smile, slipping his feet into his Vans quickly.

“So. Are you ever gonna tell me who you are?” Harry sits down beside Louis, accidentally nudging him with the sleeve of the Minnie dress.

“Why would I do that?” Louis stands up, shrugging his shoulders as he stands up to walk towards the door of the locker room. “Where’s the fun?”

“Jesus Christ,” Harry mutters, purposefully trying to kick Louis’ ankle with one of his large Minnie shoe.

“Not him either.”

“Incorrigible!” Harry yells at Louis’ back.

“As the day is long!” Louis agrees, slamming the swinging door behind himself.

:

“So I have a question,” Harry says as he enters the locker room, immediately shucking his tattered Ramones shirt off of his chest from the bottom-up, yanking it over his head towards without any sort of grace, because of course.

“Of course you do.” Louis nods sagely, as he expertly catches the shirt that Harry throws his way.

“Exactly. So, Ariel knows how to write, right?” Harry asks next, toeing out of his Chelsea boots as he opens his locker. He ducks down to pick them up, chucking them inside without much of a care.

“Okay.” Louis tosses the sweaty shirt back to Harry, such that it lands on his head.

“Oh, thanks, this is vintage, wouldn’t wanna lose it,” Harry replies, shoving his necklace into his locker as well. “But with Ariel, you know?”

“I—I don’t know what you mean, no,” Louis says, grabbing his own shirt. “Do explain, dearheart.”

Harry scoffs for a second, one hand moving to his chest. “Because she signs her name on that contract with Ursula.” He places his shirt around his neck like a scarf. For a few moments, he looks off into space, seeming nearly prescient.

“I already said _okay.”_ Louis raises a brow. “What’s the next bit?”

Harry shakes himself, as if coming to himself from somewhere else. “So like,” he drawls, unbuttoning his jeans as he simultaneously tosses his shirt into his open locker.

“Jesus Christ, H,” Louis says, chuckling quietly, watching Harry’s hands with possibly undue fascination. “I love you, but enough with the morbid tone, yeah?”

Harry pauses, thumb and forefinger on the fly of his jeans. “You what?”

“I—I’ve had enough of the morbid tone?”

“Before that.” He smiles, unzipping his fly.

“Jesus Christ?” Louis adds hesitantly.

“After that.”

Louis sighs, running his hand though his hair.

“Yeah.” Harry pops a smile, his dimple on display, hand at the bottom of his fly. “Figured as much.”

“You—”

“I just don’t understand why Ariel doesn’t write to Eric, you know?” Harry adds, turning back towards his locker so he can step out of his jeans and toss them inside. “That’s all I meant.”

“That’s—that’s all you—”

“Like, I don’t even mean a pen-pal situation, I just mean, she could have passed him a note like we all did in grade school, you know?”

“Sure.” Louis blinks a few times, unsure if he’s actually sure. He’s not regularly baffled, but somehow he tends to be baffled around Harry.

“Exactly.”

“Exactly?”

“Exactly.” Harry nods slowly before turning back around to look Louis dead in the eyes.

“I’m never clear to what extent you’re fucking with me.”

“No swearing! That’s, like, rule number one!” Harry shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips. Stripped down, he’s just wearing a surprising pair of blue boxer-briefs, and Louis tries very hard not to stare as he frowns. 

His frown necessarily turns into a smile.

“There are rules?”

“Come on, bro.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Louis agrees, smiling wider. “But, like. I think I need to know the rules. You know?” He sobers his gaze, feigning innocence as he looks Harry up and down. Then he grins again, hard.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew that there were rules,” Harry responds, turning on his heel as though he’s going to leave the locker room.

Louis immediately sobers for real. “Bro, you—you forgot your costume!”

“I’m aware!” Harry yells, turning back around, frowning.

“Okay,” Louis agrees, slowly. “Cool.” He nods, once. He watches Harry works his arduous way into the mid-section of his outfit, trying not to make a sarcastic comment. “Um. Your head’s over there,” he adds, pointing to his left.

“Thanks!” Harry yells, moving to pick it up, yanking at the door handle of the locker room.

“Uh. You’re welcome?”

“Shit, I forgot my—”

Louis laughs. “Bro, you were the one who brought up rules in the first place.”

“I’m aware!”

“The fuck,” Louis mutters, watching Harry circle back into the locker room.

“Language.” Harry frowns, shaking both of his heads slightly—the one clutched in his hand included, because he’s quivering all over.

“English?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Louis preens. “Still no.”

Harry heaves a heavy sigh.

“You forgot your shoes,” Louis says, pointing to the most-bottom part of his Mickey costume.

“I’m aware!” Harry says, stomping into the feet with undue force.

Louis tries not to laugh as he watches Harry leave the locker room in just the bottom part of a Mickey Mouse costume, but it’s a difficult thing to do.

:

 _“Once upon a December,”_ Louis sings, shoving a huge stuffed foot into his locker before tugging his backpack out next, shucking it up his arm. It’s extra-light because he’s only taking home his civvies, rather than any kind of work uniforms.

And then there’s an interruption, because of course there is. 

And it’s Harry. Because of course it is.

“That’s not even a Disney song,” Harry says, sauntering into the locker room—as somehow he is always typically sauntering—shrugging out of his Cinderella costume, tripping slightly over his own slightly pigeon-toed feet.

“I’m aware,” Louis replies, knocking Harry sideways so that he’s mostly upright. “But it’s my birthday, so.”

Harry rounds on him, stumbling again, nearly knocking Louis over. “Excuse me?”

Louis rights Harry again. He grins, shrugging his arms wide. “Someone hold me safe and warm?”

Harry chucks his Cinderella head at Louis, smiling all the while, dimple bright in his cheek. “I doubt it’s even your birthday.”

“It—it actually is.” Louis moves away, not wanting to make direct eye contact. He picks up the Cinderella head. “Hopefully I won’t turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get a kiss.” He laughs, tossing the head back towards Harry. He hefts his backpack up a bit higher on his shoulder before slamming his locker shut.

“Whoa.” Harry’s brows knit together, dimples and smile gone.

“It’s nothing,” Louis says on a sigh. “See you later, yeah?” he asks as he leaves the locker room.

“Yeah. Okay,” is the lingering reply.

It doesn’t feel entirely genuine.

:

The next time Louis opens up his locker, he finds a tiny plush doll of The Child from the Mandelorian, with a note on its ear saying _Happiest of happies!”_

He takes it out gently, moving the tag into his pocket before gently rubbing the side of the plushie’s face. Within moments, he rounds about, so that his back is to the lockers. He tries to make his face look solemn and stony. “Very funny!”

“I’m aware,” Harry says as he enters the locker room, clapping Louis on the shoulder.

“Where did you come from?”

“Under the sea?” Harry pops a bright-white grin, tucking part of his hair behind his ear. He’s carrying a very large Daisy Duck head under one arm, with his lower body full-duck, including flipper-feet.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No,” Harry says, handing Louis the Daisy Duck head. “Good guess though,” he adds, tucking another lock of hair behind his other ear. “Sweaty, kinda, you know?” He tucks yet another lock of hair behind his ear.

Louis touches one thumb into the dip of Harry’s chin as he hefts the head onto his hip like it’s a toddler, like it’s one of his younger siblings, as if the weight is nothing at all. “Adorable.”

“Yeah.” Harry steps out of his Daisy Duck bottoms, tossing them aside. “I’m aware.”

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are,” Louis counters, tossing the head back to Harry, who squeaks even as he catches it.

:

“Second guess,” Harry asks, stepping out of a frog costume that Louis doesn’t even have the necessary words to ask about. Harry nearly trips over one of the feet.

Louis sighs. “Seventeenth guess, more like, but go on.”

“Stitch?”

Louis tips backwards in laughter, almost falling off the bench, one of his civilian shoes falling off his foot. “You think I’m cute and fluffy?” he asks after he catches his breath.

“Uh.” Harry looks at him, wearing just a tank-top and green briefs, frog costume around the bottom of his legs. “Aren’t you?”

Louis considers this, still wheezing slightly. “Didn’t say I wasn’t.”

“What even are you?”

“Adorable,” Louis responds, stepping his foot back into his shoe. “Obviously.”

:

Later that week, Louis puts a small bottle of Tabasco into Harry’s locker with a notecard reading _almost there_

“Really?” Harry asks, holding up the bottle of hot sauce. “Tiana?”

“Not even remotely,” Louis says, taking the bottle out of Harry’s hand. “Thanks for this, though. I love spicy stuff.”

“I didn’t—that wasn’t—” Harry splutters, looking at his empty hand incredulously.

“Exactly,” Louis responds, putting the bottle into the back pocket of his jeans.

“You’re—” Harry splutters yet again, crossing his arms over his chest, affronted. “You’re just—”

“Adorable?”

“Infuriating.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding. He pats Harry’s cheek gently. “I said what I said.” He walks out of the locker room, hoping Harry is looking at his ass, hot sauce be damned.

:

“Second star to the right, and straight on til morning?” Harry asks two weeks later, once again stepping out of the Tinkerbell costume, setting it aside onto the filthy floor.

“Bold of you to assume I’m straight,” Louis sighs, pursing his lips as he steps into his Vans, the bench of the locker room feeling especially uncomfortable lately.

Some of the glitter of Harry’s Tinkerbell costume has dusted upon his cheeks and shoulders, which is neither here nor there. 

Yet, somehow, it’s both here and there. And everywhere.

“Yeah, I—I wasn’t assuming. I was kinda hoping otherwise.” Harry turns around, face stoic. He crosses his arms over his chest, and since he’s out of his costume, Louis can see the everything-of-it-all. He can see Harry’s arms covering his chest, he can see Harry’s chest, he can see Harry’s shoulders, he can see today’s orange boxer-briefs just barely covering the tops of Harry’s legs.  
And then he can see Harry’s remorseful face, lips pinched in such that it looks like he’s in pain. “God, I’m sorry, I don’t want to pressure you, God, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, fuck. No. God. I’m sorry.” Louis grimaces, standing up. “Hope on the second star to the right, then, and head on til morning.” He moves away, trying to relax his shoulders, and he has his hand on the door-handle just as he hears Harry snort. 

“Head on?”

“Fucking incorrigible!” Louis yells, yanking the door open with a laugh. He turns back to look at Harry, and they share a small smile.

“I’m aware,” Harry replies, moving his hands to his hips. “And I also know you’re better than doing things this way. We are _both_ better than doing things this way.”

The slam of the door is almost gentle, and Harry tucks yet another lock of hair behind his ear as he watches it close.

:

“You all right?” Harry asks, biting at his bottom lip just as Louis walks into the locker room the next day, bag on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Louis replies, snapping his locker open before immediately shutting it loudly. “Or maybe not.”

“Maybe not?” Harry says, cupping Louis’ elbow.

“Maybe,” Louis says, momentarily shifting sideways away from Harry’s contact. He moves back in, curling one hand around Harry’s jaw, trailing one finger down his chin. “Maybe not.” He sighs, shrugging one shoulder, bag falling onto the floor just as his thumb reaches Harry’s chin.

“Can I help make it better?” Harry whispers, so gently that he barely disturbs Louis’s movements.

“Maybe.” Louis shrugs, dropping his hand. “Do you want to try?”

“I’d love to.” Harry smiles slowly, reaching down to take Louis’ hand in his own. “But I’d like—if it’s okay—” He tips his head away, but then seems to think better of it, dipping forward to kiss Louis’ lips, just as Louis starts to smile in return.

:

It takes another two weeks until they wake up in Harry’s bed, the sheets tangled around Louis’ ankles.

More precisely, Louis wakes up in Harry’s arms, a bit sweaty and Louis immediately flails so wildly that he falls, both out of Harry’s arms and out of Harry’s bed.

“Wow,” Harry says, tipping sideways to reach an arm down so that he can help Louis back up. “Very much wow.”

“I’m impressive,” Louis responds, hopping back into bed, knee-walking towards Harry with a small, nearly apologetic, smile on his face.

Harry bites his bottom lip. “You definitely are,” he adds, turning his lip-bite into a big grin. “You’re very, very impressive.”

:

They wake up in Harry’s bed every morning the following week, and it doesn’t become _a thing_ until it does.

In reality?

It becomes a very big thing, such that they decide to talk about moving in together just a few months later.

:

It’s that few months after that Harry knocks open the door of their new apartment with one foot, yelling, “It’s chaotic, but hey, it’s home.” He tosses aside a bag of throw pillows and twirls into the empty entryway-slash-living-room, theatrically tossing aside his duffle bag next, which hits a wall.

Louis laughs quietly, raising an eyebrow. “You do know that you don’t need to quote all the time, yeah?” he says, following Harry into the apartment, setting down two suitcases and a backpack just inside the door.

“But I live to shock and amaze.” He turns back towards Louis, cheeks flushed. He shrugs one shoulder up.

Louis nods slowly, rubbing his shoulder and rolling his neck a bit to the side. He moves into the room, moving the duffle away from the wall. “Shock and amaze, you say?”

“Chase the wind and touch the sky,” Harry says in response, darting away to kick the door shut. He ducks his chin towards his chest. “Sorry. I kind of—”

“Just _do that._ I know.” Louis chuckles, toeing out of his Vans, turning to look at Harry.

“Sorry.” If anything, Harry ducks his chin down even more.

“Hey. Babe.” Louis shakes his head, moving into Harry’s personal space. “It’s not a problem.” He cups Harry’s cheek while also trying to sidestep an already-delivered packing-box without falling over it. “And it never was.”

“Okay. If you say so,” he says, ducking his head down somehow further, while also nuzzling into Louis’ hand.

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I do say so.” Louis nods, moving Harry’s head back up and leaning in for a kiss. “I do.”

:

Their bed is soft and comfortable. Having said that, Louis snores and talks in his sleep, and Harry half-sings and half-hums as he slumbers.

Their apartment is fairly close to a nature preserve, and they often wake up to the sound of birds tweeting, to the extent that one morning they _both_ spontaneously launch into a rendition of _“Sing, Sweet Nightingale”_ while making waffles.

“Strawberries?” Louis asks, tossing one directly at Harry’s face. It hits him in the nose and falls directly to the floor.

“Always.” Harry dips down to pick up the strawberry. He takes a bite of the tip, smiling afterwards. “Whipped cream on top, do you think?”

“As you wish.”

“Wait. That isn’t—” Harry pouts, moving the strawberry away from his mouth, slightly bitten, juice dripping onto his fingers.

“I’m aware,” Louis says, taking the strawberry out of Harry’s hand. He opens up the waffle-maker with one hand, eating the rest of the strawberry with his other. “I think we have a carton of whipping cream in the fridge. Grab it?”

Before grabbing it, Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ mid-section, squeezing in tight. “Hey. Guess what.”

“What?” Louis asks, leaning his head back slightly.

“I love you.”

Louis balks momentarily, accidentally knocking into Harry’s shoulder, such that they both tip sideways a bit. The waffle-maker slaps shut as Louis’s hand slips away from it. “I’m—I’m very impressive.”

“I said what I said,” Harry says next, almost as if he’s agreeing, and maybe he is. He shifts and turns Louis around, moving away. He gives Louis a bright-hot grin. “Hand me the mix?” he asks, biting his bottom lip. He picks up a spatula, only to tap it on his shoulder in a showy fashion while he holds out his palm. They move away from one another, just slightly, remaining within one another’s body heat.

“I’d-I’d love nothing more.” Louis remains so flustered that he nearly drops the box, which is luckily closed.

“Nothing?” Harry asks, sounding genuinely curious. He plunks the spatula into a bowl, and the sound resounds through the room. He moves to tear open the cardboard pancake-mix box with his teeth. Yanking the plastic bag out from the inside, he adds, “Not even waffles with strawberries on top?”

Louis purses his lips, raising a brow. “Oh. Well, I do love those.”

“That was my impression, yes.” Harry also bites into the top of the plastic with his teeth.

“Why are you like this?” Louis softens his voice, curling himself around Harry’s waist.

Harry jumps a bit as the bag rips haphazardly, spilling mix onto the stovetop. Then he chuckles. “Oh! I wasn’t socialized right as a child. Watched a lot of movies.”

“And yet.”

Harry stiffens, setting the open plastic bag of mix down. “And yet?”

Louis sighs, turning Harry bodily around. “And yet I love you too.”

Harry swipes some pancake mix from the stovetop and flicks it onto Louis’ nose. “I’m aware.”

“If you say so.”

:

“What do you say?” Louis asks, knee-walking his way across their— _their_ —mattress, blankets pooling around his feet as he does so.

“I say that I love you,” Harry answers readily. He tosses himself onto the bed, throwing his arms above his head so that Louis can pin him in, the blankets falling away entirely.

“It’s almost like I love you too.”

“It’s almost like you love me the most.”

“It’s almost like that.” Louis dips down, catching Harry’s lips gently for one soft kiss.

“Well, that was the plan all along,” Harry replies, rocking his hips up to unseat Louis just before flipping him over so that Louis is flat on his back on the bed.

_Their bed._

“If you say so,” Louis says, tipping his head backwards, knocking gently into the corner of the pillow.

Harry laughs, running one hand through Louis’ hair. “Pillow princess,” he adds, snorting.

“I’m a princess?” Louis asks, cupping one hand over Harry’s, running their fingers through his hair together.

“Well yeah. You’re _my_ princess, unless you wanna be my prince?” Harry says next, adding his other hand to Louis’ already-carded hair.

“I’ll be whatever you wish for, darling.”

Harry raises a brow. “You should know something.”

“Yeah?”

“The things I wish for?” He bites his bottom lip, blinking down so that his eyelashes flutter.

“Yeah?”

“I get them.” He smiles. “And I keep them.”

:

Sometimes, the idea of _keeping_ is too intense for Louis’ liking, but he’s trying not to retreat.

Sometimes, he does retreat, and he doesn’t always retreat neatly, because he’s often slapdash about a lot of things. He’s never intentionally slapdash about Harry. Although _intentionally_ is the key word, as it always is.

:

There remain things that are and aren’t without intent, because things aren’t always in the gray area.

But some things are black and white. And some things are meant with intent, especially when it comes to the fact that their boss is, as Harry calls him, a massive jerk.

Louis would call him a motherfucker, but that’s against the rules.

There comes a day that their co-worker Zayn tosses aside his purple vest as he enters the locker room. 

He’s on a tear, saying their boss is a complete asshole, spewing profanities enough to make Harry blush. He punches a wall as Liam turns towards him, one hand on his hip as he takes off his own blond wig. Liam’s eyes go wide as he takes in the situation.

“Everything okay?” Liam asks.

“Sick of playing Aladdin?” Louis asks next, his lip turning down into a small frown.

“Sick of working here, more like,” Zayn responds, rounding on Liam and Louis in an almost-threatening manner, face murderous and cloudy. His chest is heaving as he shoves aside the hat he’s wearing.

“Cuz of the hat?” Louis asks hesitantly, curling his shoulders up towards his ears.

“It’s a fez, okay?” Zayn near-yells, sitting down heavily onto the bench, knocking his head between his knees. “And no.”

“Okay, it’s a—” Louis swallows once, nodding, sitting down near Zayn, slowly raising one hand to touch his back. When Zayn doesn’t shudder away, he rubs small circles around Zayn’s shoulders. “It’s a fez. I—”

“You’re okay,” Harry interrupts, moving to pick up the fez from its spot on the ground. “And I, well, I—I don’t mean like, okay okay, but, like—”

Zayn then further interrupts him, “It’s because of—and actually, stop it, the both of you.” He throws Louis’ hand off his shoulders before rolling them backwards slightly. “I don’t want your help right now.”

Louis nods, backing away slowly.

“I hear you.” Harry nods, setting the fez on the bench.

“No you don’t!” Zayn slaps the fez away, getting back onto his feet. “Magic isn’t real, H, okay? And this place isn’t any kind of kingdom. Not really. Right now, right now, it’s just kind of ridiculous.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry nods again, three times in quick succession.

“I’m out.” Zayn stalks away, shoving his shoulder into the door as he leaves the locker room.

“Something’s gotta be done about this,” Liam says, throwing his hands sideways, accidentally knocking one knuckle into a locker.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much, Li,” Niall says, yanking a tanktop over his head.

“The fuck?” Louis clenches his fists and jaw at the same time. “Where did you come from?”

“Rules,” Harry reminds him. “Also, I’m—I’m gonna go chat with Zayn. Liam’s right. Something’s gotta be done.”

:

The thing is, Louis never intended to get into the Disney franchise.

Sure, he loved entertaining, and he loved costumes, but he never _intended_ to get into it.

Likewise, he never meant to get into Harry, either.

But a dream is a wish your heart makes, right?

He also never intended to take a new position when their boss quit (got fired) after myriad complaints, and he never intended to be really, really good at it or be better than he thought he could be.

:

“How’s it going?” Harry asks, a few weeks into Louis’ promotion, knocking on the doorframe of his office.

“No one saying _do this, stop that,”_ Louis says. “Gonna be like no king was before,” he adds, kicking his legs onto the top of the very small desk in front of him as he closes out of Zayn’s re-instatement report on his computer.

“Well, I’m glad to be a part of your world,” Harry replies.

“Yeah.” Louis nods, quirking a smile. “I’ve got everything.”

He can hear almost Zayn rolling his eyes from the other room.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: musiclily


End file.
